


Let’s Switch It Up

by SingingRobot



Category: Undertale
Genre: Gen, but as a general au tag I’m throwing it under, this is a personal project that helps me explore an idea, underswap - Freeform, we’re just kind of tagging this as we chug along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:12:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18904606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingRobot/pseuds/SingingRobot
Summary: An idea for a swap-type AU. A collection of short stories that focus on individual characters and their place in the world.





	1. Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time, there was a king, a queen, and their son, the prince.

Asgore, the king, was soft-spoken and kind, with a warm heart for all. Toriel, the queen, was bold and strong, leading her people through their darkest times. Together they ruled over monsterkind, from before the war with humans through to after being driven underground by humans.

After some time, they had a son, named Asriel. He became the new light of hope for monsterkind, and the king and queen promised that life would not only continue, but that their son would see the light of day. Monsterkind celebrated the son and everything he represented; for the first time in years, **hope** resonated in everyone.

In time, a human fell. A child that never made eye contact, who hardly spoke above a whisper for the longest time and wore sweaters inside-out a little more often than normal. Asgore and Toriel took the child in to raise as their own alongside their son, but one day…

...well.

You know how that story ends. No one wants to hear the same old tragedy over and over. There are a few other stories that are a little less worn than that one.


	2. Asgore

_“Looks like another beautiful day.”_

The Keeper of the Ruins has a routine he follows almost every day, however loosely he may follow through with it. He makes tea. He has breakfast. He goes for a stroll. He returns to tidy up the house. He has lunch. He goes back out. He talks with his neighbors, offers his help where he can, and, sometimes, he gets groceries. Then, _then_ , when everything else is done and he has the time he wants, he tends to his garden.  

It’s a little out of the way, and he’s been working on expanding it _(a little difficult, trying to replace so many old stones with fertile soil)_ , but it is, without a doubt… coming along rather nicely, to be honest. It took him a while to really start on it, but once he did, it became one of his favorite hobbies. All monsters are welcome to it, of course, and they can contribute their own gardening skills, but it mostly seems to be his, for now. He does have a few visitors, though.

He walks to the back of the Ruins armed with several buckets of water and a watering can, and unloads them in a wide chamber bordered by stalagmites. Covering the ground is a mass of golden flowers, peppered here and there by reds, blues, and even some dots of pink. He’s been thinking of planting some flowering vines.

With the can filled, Asgore begins to hum a tune as he waters the flowers. He tries to do it softly, but, as always, the room echoes the low pitch, and for a moment, it feels less lonely; like the sound is coming from someone other than him.

A flicker of movement catches his eye, but he does not stop. Instead, he slowly makes his way closer, so as to not startle the being. When he is close enough, he speaks without looking at the monster. 

“Howdy.” 

Silence.

“I do not mind that you are here. This garden is for all to enjoy. I quite enjoy company.”

More silence. Perhaps the creature cannot talk, or it is shy? He once knew someone who refused to talk unless explicitly prompted to do so.

“May I ask your name?” 

There is a long silence. “O-oh,” comes the quiet reply. “You’re talking to me. I’m sorry. Um, I’m afraid I’m a bit of a nobody.” 

“Nonsense!” he laughs. “Everyone is someone.”

“Not me,” the other says shyly.

Asgore finally takes a look at his partner in conversation. The monster is almost transparent, hardly more than a shadow with a face next to the rock. “There you are! Tell me, do you often visit this place?”

There’s a second of hesitation. “No.” 

The Keeper gives his brightest smile. “Then I hope you enjoy it! Now, please do not mind me and my singing, I’m just an old man doing his work.”

As he continues his task, the ghost speaks up again. “That song you were singing—what is it?”

“Do you like it? I learned it from someone a long time ago, but I am not sure if it has a title.”

“Oh… It is very nice, could you- no, never mind, I’m sorry.”

Asgore refills his watering can from one of the buckets as the ghost tries to speak and stumbles into a silence even he could feel the weight of. He feels the need to break it. “Do you like music?”

The location of the voice is somewhere else; a little closer to the entrance, as though the ghost was about to leave. “My cousin used to make their own songs all the time. Showed them off to me before showing the world. But they’re not… doing that, anymore.”

“Oh? Why not?”

If ghosts had throats, this one’s would’ve tightened. “Um… they’re gone, now.”

The watering can tilts back, halting the flow. “Did something happen to them?”

The voice is quieter, wavering, now. “I don’t know.”

The air is suddenly very heavy, and Asgore feels very distant from the monster he cannot see. “I am sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Asgore slowly returns to watering the flowers, trying to think of the next thing to say while waiting for the other to speak up. The water falling on the petals fills in the silence.

“Are you still there, my friend?” Asgore asks after a couple of minutes. There is silence. He sighs. Perhaps the garden will be more welcoming when he has left.

He begins to hum again, the tune a little sadder and slower than before. When he turns to refill the watering can, there is a flicker of movement in the shadows. He smiles to himself, but chooses not to speak. He hums the first tune, instead, and feels less lonely about it.  

When he returns to his home, buckets emptied and flowers tended, he makes another glass of tea and sits at his desk. Upon careful reflection of his day, he updates his journal, writing at the bottom of the page.

_“Today was a beautiful day.”_


	3. Undyne

Over a ledge, through a crack, into a cave. That’s how Undyne gets to her Secret Hideout: a messy lair decorated in Wanted posters, blueprints, fighting and stretching techniques, various other papers and folders, and more than a few broken pieces of furniture. In the corner stands a mannequin with shoulder pads and a belt; if anyone knew better, they might guess it was the beginnings of a suit of armor. A really crappy, very homemade suit of armor. 

The only problem she has here is… 

“HoI!!!” 

“NGAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”

A bright blue spear flies through the air at the abhorrent creature, landing a hairsbreadth from its feet. Its white and plump face contorts into worry,  but it maintains the infernal “3” shape of its mouth. 

“B-But wOi?” it asks sadly, beads of sweat framing its face. 

“THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A  **SECRET** LAIR!” Undyne screeches, another spear materializing in her hand. “GET OUT.” 

The creature’s face begins to stretch around the spear and towards Undyne, who recoils in disgust. 

“bUt bob LUV u… wans.. nnnn.. . cUdDLes?” it babbles. 

She hurls the secondary spear, and it sticks in the wall. “NO!” she says in a scream that would render another monster’s throat useless. 

The Bob quivers, giving a slightly surprised expression, and retracts its face before vibrating so that it moves backwards, out of the lair’s entrance. Before going out of sight, it lets out a loud and directed, “hnnn... bOI!”

Undyne stands still for a second, breathing heavily until the air is quieter. She never notices it right off, but whenever one of those accursed  _ things _ comes around (or is it just the same one?), there’s an undertone to the atmosphere, bubbly and warped and wrong in every way. Quiet enough to bring on unexplained panic attacks or drive someone mad for no obvious cause. As if their speech patterns alone weren’t enough to unsettle and enrage her. She can tell when they’re gone for sure when the ungodly tune stops pounding her eardrums in the subtle way they do. 

This time, it only takes a few seconds for it to fade out entirely. 

She stands up straight and waves away the spears in the wall. It’s a shame she can’t wave away the holes, too. Perhaps she should start aiming for the pre-existing ones. With a sigh, she walks over to pull a now-ruined poster off the wall, but hesitates before she grabs it. The poster is old, with a drawing of the Delta Rune in the middle and the words “JOIN THE ROYAL GUARD  **TODAY** ” printed on it. A memory flashes. 

She was young, and hopeful, and excited. She’d been training for weeks,  _ months _ , even, devoting almost all of her time to the prospect of being in the Royal Guard. Forget her new injury, she learned how to work with it. She wasn’t going to let  _ anyone _ apply for this before her. 

Except. Someone did. 

He was there when she got there, which was… impressive, actually. He had actually gotten there at 2 A.M., had requested audience with the Queen via the on-hand Whimsalot, and was standing outside of the castle gates for the next 7 hours, apparently oblivious to the fact that everyone in the castle was trying to sleep and the message had likely been forgotten. She spent the next hour talking with him, and she… genuinely liked him, actually. She almost felt bad, knowing there was no way a scrawny guy like that would make it into the Queen’s Protection. 

Ah, irony. 

Undyne rips the poster off the wall, leaving the corner scraps for the fungi. She crumples the paper and tosses it at the wastebasket next to her mangled desk, misses the shot, and ignores it as it joins the growing pile of crumpled papers surrounding the basket. She has other papers to look at. 

What was she here for, again? 

Actually, NO. It DOESN’T MATTER. 

She grabs a handful of papers and flips them to their backsides, hastily scribbling crummy diagrams, maps, and notes on Bobs. She is going to ELIMINATE those NUISANCES, and she will do it LEGALLY and MONSTERELY. This will make everything so much safer and more enjoyable for everyone. 

She’ll make a puzzle for them, on a conveyor belt, lined with basketball hoops and with no obvious exit. Oh, they’ll pay. They’ll pay with their awful and questionably-existing lives. They’ll vomit until there’s nothing but DUST to puke, and THEN they’ll puke their DUST, AND THEN they’ll DIE A HORRIBLE AND SUPER GROSS DEATH!!!!!

Not even their homegrown sweaters or pathetic pleas for college funding will help them, now. 

It’s almost a shame how she’ll never carry it out. 


End file.
